He knows I like to run, but his idea of what I do when I say I’m going to go run is very different than what I actually do. He thinks I just go outside and run around all haphazard and whacky, the way kids do on a playground. You know, putting it like that, he may be on to something. It’s really not all that different. I just stick to the trails at Bona Dea.

I told him I’d be out in a minute. He grinned and took off into the kitchen. I heard him clattering around in there, but I didn’t think much about it. I wandered around looking for my socks, shoes, and jacket.

When I finally made it outside I saw what he’d been after in the kitchen. Sitting on the front porch was two glasses of ice water. One big, one small. Next to that was a small stuffed bee. The bee was one of those novelty Valentine’s Day plush toys you can only get that time of year. There was a small plastic fan affixed to the front of the toy, and when you press the small button on its hand it sang, “Be my baby.”

Don’t ask me what the fan has to do with Valentine’s Day. These things never made much sense to me.

“What’s the bee for?” I asked.

Greg scooped it up and switched it on. He held the fan up so that it blew in his face. “It’s to cool us off when we get hot. Let’s run.”

So I took off across the yard. Kaylee came screaming out the door after us.

“Guuuuys, wait for meeeee!”

We ran around for a good long while. Just chasing each other in a sort of rule-less game of tag. The person who was it kept switching arbitrarily without any tagging taking place at all. Eventually we ran up to a tree near the edge of the yard.

Greg looked up to the top of the tree. “I want a big branch. A wizard’s staff.”

“Alright,” I said. I grabbed a pretty stout one and began pulling it backwards against itself. Luckily for me the branch wasn’t entirely alive and it snapped off easily.

“That’s how strong my daddy is,” Greg said.

“I want one!” Kaylee said.

I had a harder time getting Kaylee’s branch down, but eventually I did. She took it and laughed and started running around the yard, holding it above her head. “HAUNTED STICK,” she said in a ghostly voice.

Greg ran after her, swinging his stick around like a massive sword. I found my own stick on the ground and joined them.

If someone had been watching us, there was no sense to be made — three people with sticks. Two of them chasing the other. One shouting, “This stick is haunted!”

You know, when you really think about it, Greg’s version of running is a whole lot more fun than my version.

T.L. Simpson is a local author and father to Gregory Clay Simpson, 6, and Kaylee Diane Simpson, 4. Look for “Misadventures in Fatherhood” on Facebook.